Pretending
by DramaGeek
Summary: The Doctor and Clara travel to Venice and run into Giacomo Casanova, who looks suspiciously like the tenth Doctor, and takes quite a shine to Clara, much to the Doctor's dismay.
1. A Normal, Human Holiday

**A/N** _Since the Casanova miniseries is Russell T. Davies and David Tennant I like to imagine it counts as being in the Whoverse (especially since the Doctor lost a bet to Casanova and now owes him a chicken). Plus, it made me laugh to think about Clara realizing Casanova looks like Ten and making the Doctor explain why. Hope you enjoy!_

**Chapter 1 - A Normal, Human Holiday**

The Doctor whirled around the console room; a true personification of delight. In the last couple of days he had flown with the Wright brothers, attended one of Newton's lectures on mechanics, and save the Garney people of Squelveseckie from a sentient and particularly carnivorous shade of purple. In short, he had had a full, and meaningful two days on his own, and meeting Clara now was not weakness or an inescapable desire for her company, it was just the logical next thing to do. The Doctor plotted his course carefully. Clara had been very clear about when he was allowed to arrive. He had to wait until the term was done. He was not to interrupt her in that stressful last month. He had already mistakenly broken that embargo and had taken her to a beach planet the weekend before. She had agreed because he promised it would be relaxing, forgetting of course that they were arriving during the traditional hunting season of the Portan (a race of crab like humanoids). As a result their holidays turned out to be less sun bathing and more running for their lives. As such, the Doctor really had to get the timing right this time.

His plan was to arrive first thing and land right in Clara's flat so that they didn't have to waste any time and could get right to the traveling part. He smiled to himself at the familiar sound of the TARDIS, knowing Clara would be doing the same. He could picture it already, that excited and expectant look she got at the start of an adventure. Her big eyes glowing, somehow made brighter than usual (although he could never quite believe that was possible). He stepped out of the TARDIS, arms already opening, expecting her to jump into them. Instead he received a well aimed pillow right to the face. "Oi, what was that for?" He rubbed his nose and looked over at her. He seemed to have landed in her bedroom. Clara was sitting up in bed with messy hair and very tired eyes.

"It's half six!"

The Doctor was rather pleased with himself, he'd arrived exactly when he intended. Clara, on the other hand, looked decidedly less than pleased. This confused the Doctor, "I thought you always got up at half six?"

Clara rubbed her forehead in frustration, "Yes, every school day. Sometimes it's even earlier. And on the days I'm not working I'm with you, and you're not exactly the sleep-in type. Doctor do you know how many days I've slept past seven since this term began?"

"26," he said assertively, having never really understood the concept of a rhetorical question.

"None."

"Oh," he was looking sheepish now.

"And you, you get to just come and go, where as I've had the most exhausting week of my life." The Doctor was about to interject, but Clara beat him to it, "Except for the time we got lost in the Forest of Dreams and the Sleep Field prevented us from getting any rest, yes I know. But this was the last week of the term, it was a week of marking exams, writing reports, and conferencing with parents. In short, mentally and physically exhausting, and I just needed a break."

The Doctor was ringing his hands nervously, "I could come back in a few hours. Or tomorrow, or something."

Clara shook her head, "I'm already up. Besides, knowing you you'll find away to arrive even earlier, you'd probably get here at 4 in the morning if I let you go." Clara stood up and stretched. She was wearing a baggy t-shirt he suspected she'd stolen from the wardrobe and shorts that barely covered her...

"Doctor, I think your eyes are stuck," Clara said with a smirk.

The Doctor's cheeks turned a deep red at being caught staring. "No... I mean... I was just... shut up." Clara was looking at him expectantly, eyebrows raised. He looked back, puzzled at her expression. Finally it hit him, "You need to wash up and get dressed... So I should... go."

"Just wait for me in the TARDIS. And don't go any where, who knows what that might lead to."

* * *

After a nearly unbearable, excruciatingly long 15 minutes Clara entered the TARDIS. She was dressed in her usual leather jacket, cotton dress, and tights, and carried a small, red suitcase. "All set? Ready for an adventure?"

She smiled at him and seemed about to say yes when suddenly she stopped and changed her mind, "No."

"Oh..." the Doctor wasn't really sure how to respond to that.

Clara's voice was reassuring, "What I mean is, I'm ready for a holiday."

"That's what I said."

"Noooo it's not. Doctor, I'm stressed, I'm overworked, I'm tired, and I would like one trip that doesn't involve running from, being captured by, or investigating aliens. I want to go site seeing, visit art galleries, drink nice wine, eat good food, and _sleep in_. I want a normal, boring, human holiday."

The Doctor considered this. His expression akin to what Clara imagined her friends would look like if she offered them a trip to Jupiter: not immediately dismissive, but still trying to wrap his head around the idea. "Venice has all of those things."

Clara let out a sigh of relief, "Venice, perfect! I've always wanted to go."

Her enthusiasm returned the Doctor to his usual excited self, "Then you have to see it in the 47th century. It's all underwater by then and has some of the best sea food restaurants of all time. And you're even served by fish! Which I guess might seem a little gruesome, but—"

"No. Stop. That is not a normal, human holiday."

"They do have humans. Some humans."

"Doctor, I want present day Venice. Nothing timey wimey, just Venice, today."

"But it's December." Clara raised an eyebrow. "If you're going to see Venice you really must go in the spring."

"Fine, spring. But of this year, got it Chinboy?"

"You're the boss."

* * *

The wheezing, yet hopeful sound of the TARDIS rang out as it materialized at their destination. Clara looked utterly delighted. "Well go on then," the Doctor said, pointing towards the door.

Clara seemed to skip her way there. She pulled the door open and just stared. "Perfect," she said wistfully as she walked out, knowing the Doctor was close behind. She gazed dreamily at the buildings and the canal, practically dancing her way through the streets. Her hellish month soon forgotten in the tranquil scene that surrounded her. The Doctor's gaze was only on his Impossible Girl, at the fluttering of her steps and the way her eyes lit up with every new sight that greeted them. She loved outer space to be sure, but Clara was one of those people who saw the magic in everything. So the Doctor didn't fear this 'normal, human holiday', didn't worry about going domestic or being bored, because if she was here he knew he wouldn't be. Clara linked arms with him and her voice called him out of his inner musings, "I didn't realize how well preserved the city was."

"Oh yes, they've done..." the Doctor trailed off as he took in the buildings. They were... a bit better preserved than they should have been. Something was off.

Clara didn't seem to notice, she continued to wind her way through the streets. It was early morning and there were only a handful of people out, all of them dressed in period clothing. "Bit touristy, isn't it? Suppose they get more business if they look the part. I know I said sight seeing, but I'd love to see all the small haunts too. Meet the locals."

"Yeah," the Doctor wasn't really listening, he was still trying to place exactly where and when they were, although he had the sinking suspicion that he knew.

The pleasant alleyway they were wandering through ended at a small courtyard surrounded by a short brick wall that came up to the Doctor's hip. He took one look at the courtyard and pulled Clara down so that they were both hidden behind the wall. "Okay, so I may have gotten the timing wrong by just a smidgen." She raised an eyebrow. "It's the 1740s."

"That's a rather large 'smidgen'."

He smiled sheepishly, "Not to fear, we can just pop back to the TARDIS and we'll be on our way." He made a move to crawl the way they had come, but Clara pulled him back, "Hang on. Why are we hiding?"

"Hiding? No, we're not hiding-"

"Alright then," Clara began to stand up, this time it was the Doctor's turn to pull her down. "So why are we hiding?"

"I prefer to think of it as remaining unseen."

Clara rolled her eyes, "Who is it that shouldn't see us."

The Doctor could tell he wasn't going to get out of this one, "Casanova," he grumbled.

"Casanova?! Giacomo Casanova? The Chevalier de Seingalt?" The Doctor motioned for Clara to keep her voice down. "Why are you hiding from Casanova?"

The Doctor rang his hands, "I... I owe him a chicken."

"A chicken?

"It's a long story. I lost a bet."

Clara burst out laughing, "A hundred million Daleks and you don't bat an eye, but the thought of giving up a chicken has you cowering in fear," she was shaking her head, her expression a mix of admiration and disbelief, "you're completely mad."

"That's why you like me," he said with a wink. He hadn't meant to do that. He glanced around, partly to insure Casanova wasn't in ear shot, and partly to give himself some place to look other than Clara's inviting face. "So, present day Venice. You're ordinary, human holiday. You ready?"

"Yes. But I want to see Casanova first," there was a wicked grin on her face. The Doctor looked anxious and continued to ring his hand. "I just want a peak. It won't give you away. He doesn't know what I look like." She stared at him imploringly.

"Very well," he relented, "but try not to be seen."

Clara smiled broadly, "Where is he?"

"Standing by the fountain."

Clara got up onto her knees and peaked over the top of the wall. She instantly sat back down, an anxious look on her face, "Doctor, we've got bigger problems than losing a chicken. You're standing in the courtyard. We've crossed your timeline."

This did worry the Doctor. He quickly glanced around the square before returning to his hiding spot, "Where do you see him... well, me?"

"By the fountain."

A strange look passed over the Doctor's face, as if he was beginning to put it all together and rather wished that he wasn't. "Which me is it?"

"The one before you; the tenth one. The 'hero'," she added, calling him back to the time the three of them had shared.

"And is he currently dressed in teal coloured silk robes?"

"Yeah, far cry from the usual brown suit and sand shoes."

The Doctor stared in front of him avoiding Clara's eyes. "That's not me," he said, rubbing his neck awkwardly, "I never came to Venice as Ten. That's Casanova."


	2. A Chicken

**Chapter 2 - A Chicken**

"Why does Casanova look like you?" The Doctor opened his mouth and then closed it again, not quite sure what to say. "Or do you look like him?" He glanced up at her and then quickly looked away. "I'm right, aren't I?"

"Clara..." he screwed up his face, hunting for the words, "regeneration isn't completely random—"

"So you chose to look like him?"

"Well, not chose so much as... It's a lot more subconscious than that."

"Wait, are all of your faces based off of other people?"

"Not my first one, no. But the others," he shrugged, "who knows. My ninth self bares a striking resemblance to a rather sad and unpleasant man I met once in Yorkshire."

"So that accent _was_ from the north?"

"Yes I suppose so, now can we—"

"When were you last here in Venice?" Clara knew the Doctor was anxious to leave, but she wasn't going anywhere until she understood what was happening. If they left for the TARDIS now he'd whisk her off on some adventure and she'd never get an explanation out of him.

"I came here with some friends rather recently. Well, when I say recently it was a few hundred years back, but it was this face. We fought vampire fish!" he said with the goofy grin of a ten year old.

Clara tried to call him back to the question, "Doctor?"

"'Course that was long before Casanova was born. No, the last time I was in Venice with Casanova it was my fourth self. You know the one with the broad rimmed hat and the—"

"Ridiculous scarf?" Both Clara and the Doctor looked up to see Casanova smiling at them devilishly from the entrance to the courtyard. "Is that really you, Doctor? When you said you could change your face I thought you were just a bit pissed. Blimey. You're younger. Good looking, if a bit strange. Still no fashion sense, but that was too much to hope for." Casanova turned his gaze towards Clara, an altogether different grin appearing on his face, "glad to see you remembered to bring me a chicken."

"A what?" Clara asked, indignantly. She stood up and the Doctor quickly followed suit. She took a few steps towards Casanova, completely invading his personal space. The Doctor thought this was going rather well, actually. Clara would put Casanova in his place, and the two of them would be off on a proper adventure in no time. But, of course, that's not what happened. At the last moment Clara whirled around and came after him, "A 'chicken', you said you owed him a 'chicken'."

"Bit of Venetian slang. Like chick or bird," the Doctor was backing up, to no avail, Clara was keeping pace.

"So what you really meant to say was a 'woman'. You bet a _woman_," the look she was giving him was pure ice and it, in no uncertain terms, demanded an explanation.

Casanova took pity on him, "I can explain, if you like."

"Thanks, but I think this one really has to come from the Doctor," who, in his awkwardness, had backed himself up against the low wall, and Clara had effectively trapped him there. He was use to her assertiveness, what he wasn't used to, what he hoped he never saw again, was the look of complete disapproval in her eyes. It was perhaps one of only a few things in the universe that could rendered him speechless.

"He's not selling you into slavery or anything," Casanova said, with a laugh.

Clara maintained her position blocking the Doctor, but turned around to face Casanova, "It's the 1740s, I don't think we should really be joking about slavery."

"You're friend's only crime is nativity. And a complete lack of fashion." Clara took a few steps away from the Doctor and motioned for Casanova to continue. "The last time the Doctor was here he not only had a different face, he also had a different lady with him."

"Romana," the Doctor managed to add, now that Clara was facing Casanova and had given him a little room.

"Lovely Romana. She took quite a shine to me."

"She couldn't stand you. She spent most of her time belittling him."

"That was just harmless flirting."

"Doctor, are you telling me you made a bet about whether or not Romana would... get it on with him—"

"'Get it on', I like that."

"—and you bet against Casanova?"

The Doctor shrugged, "She's not even human, I never thought..."

Clara rolled her eyes. Naive was right. "Wait, but how did this even become a bet?"

"Well, I was sure that I would succeed in my efforts, the Doctor was certain I would fail. And we each had something we desired. I desired Romana—"

"Yeah, but if she's the bet you can't exactly win her as your price."

"Quite right, but I could request another _chicken_. The way the Doctor told it he was always traveling with beauties, so the deal was if I won he'd bring another lady here and I could try again. A sort of double or nothing."

Clara shot the Doctor another disapproving look before turning back to Casanova, "So, does that mean the bet would continue?"

"Exactly. I'd have a day, or so to charm the skirt off her, well, I guess in this case, you, and if I do—"

"He brings you another _chicken_. I get it." Clara turned back around to speak to the Doctor. He was glad to see her expression had thawed a bit, "But what's in it for you, Doctor? What could you possibly desire enough that you would make that bet?"

"A... tricorne."

"A what?"

"A hat. The most hideous hat that ever existed."

"No it's not!"

"Kind of is. I was wearing it when I first met the Doctor and only because it was a gift from a _benefactor_, and you really shouldn't bite the hand that feeds you (it was her neck she liked bit, actually. And her thighs)," he added the last part with a wink. Clara stared at him indifferently (the Doctor blushed profusely). "Anyway, it's purple velvet, with silver lace and great big feathers. Horrible, you see? But your Doctor, he was as enamored with that hat as I was with Romana."

"Yes well, a good deal has happen since then. I've _matured_," he said it with enough unnecessary emphasis to completely belie his point, "and I don't plan to make the same mistake again." He began walking in the direction of the TARDIS, "Come along, Clara. Present day Venice awaits." The Doctor took a few steps, but quickly realize that Clara wasn't following him. He whirled around in confusion.

"Couldn't we just stay?"

"Hear that Doctor, I think she likes me."

The Doctor wasn't sure whether he should be glaring at Casanova or looking dumbfounded at Clara.

"Hardly. But think about it, we're already here, we've missed the tourist by a few centuries, lover boy here can act as our tour guide and should keep us out of non-humany trouble, and by the end of the day you'll have a new ridiculous hat that River will probably burn the next time she sees you."

The Doctor still looked uneasy, "But he'll be..." he seemed to mine talking and winking, before it devolved into air kisses... with tongue.

"Flirting? I think I can handle it."

"Oh are we _handling_ things already?" The Doctor shot him a glare. "You move rather fast, Miss... what was it?"

"Oswald. And just to be clear, the only thing you'll be handling tonight is yourself."

The Doctor went crimson, but Casanova only grinned. "Clara Oswald, what a day we're going to have."

**A/N** _It's Casanova, it couldn't just be a 'chicken'. And don't worry, the Doctor has more to explain about why Ten looks like Casanova. Thanks for reading._


	3. Pretending

**Chapter 3 - Pretending**

"Welcome to Saint Mark's Basilica," Casanova said, as he, Clara, and the Doctor walked through the grand doors and into the cathedral. Clara stared around her in wonder. "Dating back to the 11th century, it is one of the finest examples of Italo-Byzantine architecture in the world, and is affectionately referred to as the "Church of Gold".

"I can see why," Clara gazed up at the golden domes in the ceiling, unaware that both men were watching her, enjoying the simple look of pleasure on her face. Clara took in the whole room, carefully examining the golden mosaics before catching Casanova's eye (the Doctor decidedly ignored the small pang of hurt he felt at the fact that she didn't look at him first).

"It's beautiful!" Clara said airily, before catching herself, "If a little over the top."

"You know the church, nothing's too great for the grace of _God_."

"Are you a religious man, Giacomo?"

"I wouldn't say so particularly. Which I suppose is strange, seeing has how I once worked for the church."

"_You_ were a priest?"

"He was thrown out of the seminary in disgrace," the Doctor stage whispered to Clara.

"I don't doubt it," Clara replied with a laugh that worried the Doctor and made Casanova stand a little straighter (that worried the Doctor too).

"I do believe in God. It's the orthodoxy that bugs me. The Catholic insistence that if it's enjoyable it must be a sin. The way I see it. God made me like this, blessed me with charm, wit, a handsome face-

"Humility."

"-I can't imagine why he'd bother if he didn't want me to use any of it. And I know a priest would say he's doing it to test me, but that's rubbish. What fun would that be? I think God enjoys what I do. I think he's the type that likes to watch (I mean what else is there for him to do, turn people to salt, impregnate virgins?)," he grinned widely at Clara, she looked back at him evenly. "I expected you to say 'that's blasphemous'."

"Well I'm not sure one way or the other if there is a God, but if there is and he's really omnipotent then I can't imagine he much cares what we say."

"Quite right. Does that mean that it won't impress you if I told you I met the Pope?"

"Who, Pope Benedict XIV?" the Doctor asked, finding a way into the conversation at last. "Good ol' Prospero. You know I once saved him from an electric eel. Well it was more like a giant robot that look like an eel. And it wasn't really electric. Not until I threw it in the holy water." The others didn't hear the Doctor's remarks, they had already begun to move through the church. The Doctor remained stationary, examining the distance between him and Clara. He realized how strange it was to not have her at his side, to not have her hand in his. It felt a little like missing a limb. The Doctor carefully assessed the space between Clara and Casanova. It was not particularly close, a comfortable distance, so to speak, but, in the Doctor's opinion it could be bigger. At least she hadn't taken his hand.

Clara moved through the cathedral marveling at the opulence, barely taking in a word of the history Casanova was recounting to her. The room was so eerily quiet. Just Casanova's soft voice, their quiet footsteps, and the Doctor's noisy ones. Clara had noticed a priest earlier on, and there were a few workers who moved liked ghosts through the space, silently cleaning and maintaining the building. "Why are we alone?"

"Are you enjoying it?" Casanova wiggled his eyebrows.

"What I meant was: why isn't anyone from the congregation here?"

"There isn't one."

"Then who uses the basilica?"

"The Doge."

"Just him?" Clara asked with surprise and obvious distaste.

"And his family. They also hold public ceremonies of the state here from time to time."

"All of this," she motioned around the cavernous space at all of the art, marble, and gold, "for one family? It's too much."

"Is it now?" Casanova asked with a smirk.

Clara was still staring at the decor, "Don't you get tired of it? All the shows of wealth? The posturing? The social rules?"

"Every society has rules. Even yours in the future."

Clara turned away from the room to examine him instead, "How did you know I was from the future?"

"You and the Doctor speak of time the way others speak of destinations, as though you can move through it at will. You are clearly not from this time. You delight in the beauty and wonder of Venice, but don't hesitate to criticize it either. And I think if you were from the past you would just be amazed at our advancement."

Clara studied his face carefully, "That was quite good. You're clever."

"Yes I am."

"And the humility is back."

"Humility is boring." Casanova stopped in front of a choir loft. He sang out a string of notes, which reverberated through the space heavenly. "St. Mark's has some of the best acoustics in all of Venice. Maybe I should play that concert after all."

Casanova had talked his way into the basilica by claiming he had to check the space and acoustics for a performance he was scheduled to give in a month's time. The Doctor was certain that explanation wouldn't work, and had his psychic paper at the ready, perfectly happy to save the day. But saving, it seemed, wouldn't be required. All the story needed was a smile and a wink from Casanova, and they had been allowed in.

"So that was a lie then?"

"It wasn't a lie, it was just... pretending."

"Right, that's what you do, isn't it? Pretend to be a lawyer, a doctor, an astrologer."

"But you're just saying that because you're a Sagittarius and you have a genuine interest in getting to the truth of the matter."

"How'd you know I was a Sagittarius?"

"Because I once pretended I was a astrologer. Everyone pretends, Clara. Low born, high born, time traveling aliens, and beautiful ladies from the future. I just happen to be very good at it. Coincidentally, since you were born under the centaur I also know that you are fearless, bold, love adventure and travel, and are quite the flirt."

Clara wasn't sure when he had done it, but Casanova was now standing very close to her, "Are you a Sagittarius too, then?"

"No, I was born under the Ram. Which means I'm impulsive, goal oriented, and particularly well matched to Sagittarius's," Casanova took Clara's hand gently and brought it to his lips, his eyes never once leaving hers.

Clara raised an eyebrow, "Enjoying yourself?"

"Quite a bit," Casanova said with a smirk, holding onto her hand a second longer before releasing it.

"I'm a bit... churched out." The Doctor's comment caught the pair off guard. They both took a subconscious step apart. "Where to next?"

"Well, that's Clara's choice."

Both men looked expectantly at her, "Lunch time, I should think. Good food and good wine."

"The wine will be taken care of this evening. The Barbaros are holding a large function and they always serve the best. The expense is so great the family goes without wine completely for the next two months to offset the cost, but it is a tremendous display of wealth and fine taste."

"More pretending."

'I'm afraid you won't escape it here (won't escape it anywhere really). But enough of that. The lady is famished and I have just the place."

**A/N**_ For lack of an actual birthday I gave Clara the same one as her Victorian counter part (November 23). I didn't really know anything about astrology but I was amazed at how much her character matches a Sagittarius. I used Casanova's real birthday and he's a dead ringer for an Aries. Sort of fun. _


	4. Games

**Chapter 4 - Games**

The restaurant Casanova took them to was not at all what Clara had been expecting. It was a ruckus tavern on the other side of the city. The area was all stone and brick buildings, stained by smoke and soot. There was nothing in that part of town even approaching opulent (and hardly anything approaching clean). The patrons of the tavern wore simple clothing and spoke and laughed freely, the binding restraints of Venetian society seem to have little sway here. Although Casanova was right, there were still social rules on display, it was just a different rule book. Clara smiled at Casanova in amazement, "I never would have guessed you'd bring us anywhere like this."

"Why, because I'm all high class and posh? This place has the best Sepe al nero in all of Venice. You'd think I'd miss out on that just because it's in a different part of town?"

Clara thought that was putting it a bit lightly, "But what about all of your rich _patrons_ and _benefactors_? Aren't you breaking the rules by just being here?"

"Clara, an ordinary man knows the rules of his society, a smart man knows how to work within those rules, and a very clever man knows which of those rules can be bent, and which can be ignored all together. No one cares if I come out here. They think it's modern and radical, and all the more impressive because they'd never dream of doing it themselves." Clara studied his face, reevaluating him yet again. Casanova let her look, sitting there completely comfortable under her scrutiny.

The moment was broken by the Doctor clearing his throat, "So, lunch then?"

"'Course," Casanova motioned to a young woman at the far end of the room. She exchanged a quick word with the barman and brought over a tray with three gigantic steins of beer. "They brew their own ale here, some of the best in the city." Casanova winked at the server and Clara noticed that once she had set down the last glass the woman let her hand rest on Casanova's shoulder for a moment before brushing it across his back. "To friends, new and old," Casanova raised his glass.

The Doctor and Clara followed suit. Clara took a sip. It was a richer taste than she was used to, not to mention a good deal stronger, but Clara quite enjoyed it. She was about to say as much, but was distracted by the awful face the Doctor made before he spit the beer back into his stein. "That's dreadful. I'm going to go see what else they have," the Doctor headed for the bar, but on his way he noticed a young boy of about 8 and made a beeline for him instead. "What have you got there?" The Doctor took a sip from the boy's stein and spit its contents onto the floor, "Beer? They've given you beer? Do you even like it?" Clara couldn't hear the boy's response, but the Doctor added, "Why don't I go make us something better?"

Clara's eyes followed the Doctor as he crossed the room and headed straight for the bar. He walked right past everyone who worked there and started taking stock of their selection. The workers were so bewildered no one even stopped him. They all just seemed to stare. All except the young woman who served them, her eyes were darkened with desire and were staring right at Casanova. "Is she one of yours?" Clara asked with a smirk.

"One of mine? I thought you objected to throwing around _ownership_."

"Is she one of your conquests then?"

Casanova actually looked offended by her statement, "And here I thought we were getting on so well. But, Miss Oswald, I'm beginning to get the impression you don't approve of me."

"I don't. At least, not when it comes to _chickens_."

"That's disappointing, I figured the future was bound to be more enlightened when it came to sex. Or are you just a prude?"

"I have no problem with consenting adults doing whatever they want with each other."

"Well then?"

"I don't approve of games."

"I don't play them." Clara let out a laugh. Casanova frowned, "I don't."

"Then what are we doing right now?"

"Having lunch. Well, I suppose we're about to have lunch. Right now we're having a... disagreement."

"No, we're in the middle of a game. One of your games. A stupid bet. A conquest. That's what I disapprove of."

"Do you think I'm only interested because of the bet?"

"I think the Doctor could have arrived with anyone and you would do your best to trick them into bed."

"'_Trick_' there's another unfair word. We've spent the last three hours together. Have I been in anyway untrue."

"You lied your way into the basilica."

"I meant to you."

"You're so very good at pretending, how could I possibly know?"

"Because you're clever. Very clever. More than that, you understand people. And yet you still genuinely like them, an unusual combination. One that we share. You're kind, and giving of spirit. A teacher. You love your work, love helping others, but you're torn, because you love this too, the adventure, the travel, the Doctor's world. There are times when you consider just running off permanently. Giving up any ties to home. You're bold and self-assured. Some people might mistake you for stubborn, but you're not, are you? Because you keep changing your mind about me. Reevaluating what you've heard, what you think. You give people the benefit of the doubt. Yes, this started as a bet, yes I will do my best to take you home with me this evening, might even succeed, but that's not because I just want someone. It's because I want you. That's the truth. I may have made my career and livelihood out of pretending, but I don't do that with women. They aren't trophies or notches on the bed post. I care about them, I know them, I listen to them. Love them."

"All of them?" Clara asked in disbelief.

"Don't they still say, 'making love' anymore?"

"You can't love someone for just one night?"

"Well, it's usually more than one night... but that's beside the point. Listen, I agree with you, a man who takes women to bed with lies and promises is a bastard. But every woman I have ever been with I've told the truth to, they knew what we were and what we weren't."

"It's still not fair."

"Why not?"

"Because... because if you're ever caught it's a slap on the wrist for you and for them it's dishonour and disgrace. How can you be equal parties in it, if the stakes are not equal?"

"Well, that's when it's very handy to live in a society filled with pretenders. Such a thing would bring dishonour, so the times I'm been 'caught' as you say, everyone goes on as if it never happened. These woman are not cast out, that would cause a scene, gossip. It's so much easier just to pretend." Casanova turned away from Clara for a moment. Her eyes followed his gaze. The Doctor was conferencing with the barkeep, and held in his hands two tall glasses of a thick yellow liquid. Banana daiquiris were Clara's guess. She could see yellow peels on the counter. The Doctor must of had a bunch in is pocket. She had long suspected that he always had at least one banana on him, perhaps for situations like these. He brought the drinks over to the little boy, and just before the boy could take a sip, the Doctor also added mini umbrellas to the tops of their glasses. Another strange item he fished out of his bigger-on-the-inside pockets. The two raised their glasses and took large sips. When they set their glasses down both the Doctor and the boy had yellow mustaches and satisfied grins on their faces. "I've always liked the Doctor. He's the only person I've ever met who's just completely and utterly themselves. He couldn't pretend if he tried. Except..."

"Except?" Clara echoed, an eyebrow raised.

"Well, we're the opposite, the Doctor and me. I'm always pretending, except when it comes to women. Where as he... well you know." Casanova took a sip of beer and changed the subject, feeling a little like he'd said too much already. It, after all, wasn't his secret to tell. "Tell me more about your time. Is the battle of the sexes over now? Have we reached equality?"

"Getting closer," Clara replied, finishing her ale. "The belief is that as a woman you can do anything a man can do."

"But that's not always the case?"

"We're getting there. There's still some barriers, but fewer and fewer each year. But you know, society, it's slow to change. You asked about sex right? In theory it doesn't matter, go do what you want, be safe, obviously, but it's entirely up to the person, man or woman. Even so, if a woman sleeps with a lot of people she's a 'slut' or a 'whore', but if a man sleeps with a lot of people he's a 'player' or a... well, 'casanova'. See there's no positive term for a woman who has a lot of sex and there's no negative term for a man who does."

"Stupid social hangups. Still, it's progress, even if it takes them a bloody long time. You've been to the future. We must get over all of this stuff someday."

"Yeah, eventually. I tell you, you'd love the 51st century."

"Maybe I'll get the Doctor to take me for a ride in his little box."

"Yeah, you'd probably enjoy that," Clara winked at him.

"Certainly if you were there. The three of us, hadn't even consider that, but if—"

"No, no. Stop there."

"So there is a line?" Casanova said, his eyes wandering over to the Doctor. "Miss Oswald, don't tell me you've been pretending too?"


	5. Art

**A/N** _Hello all. Sorry for the delay, January is one of our busiest times at work. Thanks for reading (and all of your patience). _

**Chapter 5 - Art**

Casanova was right, the cuddle fish was delicious. Even the Doctor thought so, especially after he dipped it in the banana daiquiri (a 'taste adventure' both Clara and Casanova politely declined). With their plates empty and their bellies full, both men turned their attention to Clara, wondering what she wanted to see next: "Art."

"Art it is," the Doctor waved his arms about dramatically, "Venice is home to a distinctive, thriving and influential art scene. They've got everyone from Giorgione to Bellini, Titian to Basssano. It's hard to even know where to start."

"I've got just the place," Casanova said as he stood and offer Clara his hand. She took it briefly as she got up.

"'Course you do," the Doctor grumbled, more to himself than the others. "Right, well, lead on then, I suppose."

* * *

"The Ca' Rezzonico has one of the best collections of Italian and Venetian art in the whole world, and unlike most collections they're not limited to the classics. They try to get their hands on everything. Rather progressive, in a stab your best friend for a Veronese sort of way (but that was probably just gossip)."

Clara looked nervously at the grand palazzo before glancing over at the Doctor and then down at herself, "And they're going to let _us_ in."

"Well, that's the thing about art, it's no use if you can't show it off. To the right people, of course."

"Can't imagine we're the 'right people'," Clara smirked, watching the Doctor pull yet another banana from his pocket.

"We are if we have the right story," Casanova glanced over at the Doctor who had eaten half the banana in a single bite and now had cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk. "I think I'm going to need your help for this one, Doctor."

"_Mine_?" he mumbled through a full mouth.

"These people are a suspicious bunch. They're not just going to buy any story. I think we'll need your... What did you use to call it?"

"Psychic paper," the Doctor beamed. Emboldened, the Doctor marched the trio up to the entrance.

The head of the household seemed to think they were art appraisers, and gladly welcomed them in, despite how appallingly awful the Doctor story was. While he stumbled and backtracked through his explanation of their presence, Clara turned to Casanova and whispered a thank you.

"For what?"

"Letting him share the stage. He likes to be useful."

"Clara Oswald, I haven't the faintest idea what you're on about."

"'Course you don't. Thanks anyway."

* * *

"I like this one," Clara announced, standing in front of a painting of the Virgin and Child. "Jesus never looks right in the other ones. I mean first off they just paint him like a mini adult, which is silly. But more than that the expression is all wrong. Serene and godlike—"

"He is the son of God," Casanova baits her.

"And he's also a child. I like that he actually looks like one here."

"I like her robes. TARDIS blue," the Doctor beamed, almost proudly.

Clara stared at the Doctor, "Wait, where you there?"

"Meant to be. Got all the way to the manger, was actually hovering in the air just over it, but the TARDIS wouldn't land, don't think she wanted me to interfere. Fixed point and all that. I tried to override her, but I wasn't that successful, all I managed to do was make the lamp on the top 56.3 times brighter."

"Doctor, are you saying..."

"Don't believe a word of it, Clara," Casanova said with a laugh. "You know the Doctor."

"You're the one who said he never pretends," she countered with a smirk, still staring inquisitively at the Doctor.

"That's right. He lies."

A big, genuine smile spread across the Doctor's face, "Always the clever one."

The trio moved towards the next painting, but the Doctor stopped mid-stride, "What'd you suppose is there?" he asked in wonder.

"It's a tapestry, Doctor. It shows the family tree."

"No not that. What's behind it."

Clara looked carefully around the perimeter of the tapestry, she couldn't see anything, "You mean, the wall?"

"There's a hidden door."

"I don't see it."

"It's well hidden. Where do you suppose it goes?"

"To the mistress. These sorts of passageways always do."

"Even here, in a common area?" the Doctor asked, running his fingers lightly against the weave. Careful not to let the workers of the house see him, the Doctor took out his sonic screw driver and did a quick scan, "There's definitely a space behind this one." He turned around and realized he was talking to himself, Clara and Casanova had lost interest and had moved on to the next piece. The Doctor noticed the workers of the house were eying him carefully. This was clearly not something he should be interfering with. How could he resist? In a moment he had ducked behind the tapestry. He ran his fingers against the wood, looking for any imperfections. His hands caught against a latch and it pulled at it quickly. Once safely behind the door he pulled out his sonic, but to no avail, "Really? All wood?" Without the ability to lock the door behind him the Doctor ran down the passageway instead. With the help of his ultra violet portable sunlight the Doctor could tell the passageway branched out to the left and right, but he ran on, knowing whatever it was the household didn't want others to see would be as tucked away as possible. What it was he couldn't guess, but he felt drawn to it somehow. He reached the end of the passageway just as he heard movement behind him. Ducking into the final room he held out his torch and surveyed the area. The room was empty, with the exception of a giant canvas. The painting was covered with rags but the bottom right corner was exposed. The Doctor moved closer to get a better look, but paused at the sound of breaking glass under his foot. _This wasn't good at all_. As if reading his mind four men burst into the room and grabbed hold of him, "Hi, sorry. Know how this must look. Not here to steal the art or anything. I'm here on official business, if you'll just let me get my..." the Doctor suddenly realized he didn't have his psychic paper on him. He'd loaned it to Clara so she could asked the steward for a cup of tea. The Doctor's mind raced through other possible escapes, but the small corner of the painting caught his eye, distracting him from his task. The piece was either the work of a master, a true genius when it came to space and depth, or it was Time Lord art. "In fact, if that painting is what I think it is, it's really _you_ who are the thieves." Four sets of hands dragged him roughly out of the room. "That's not going to be the winning argument, is it?"

* * *

After admiring the art for over an hour Clara and Casanova were ready to depart, they were just missing one thing, "Where's the Doctor?" Clara asked, looking around the cavernous room.

"He's been gone for ages now, didn't you notice?" Casanova grinned widely at her.

Clara shot him a glare that very clearly said, _stop looking so smug_, but instead of actually engaging him, she walked over to the steward. "Have you seen the other man who was with us? The... art appraiser?"

"He left a while ago, Miss." Clara looked troubled.

"Maybe he decided we didn't need a chaperone any more."

Clara glanced around, as if expecting the Doctor to suddenly turn up, "Yeah, but he would have said something..."

"Really?" Casanova asked.

Clara scan the room once more, before shaking her head, "No, I suppose not. Still, we should check on the TARDIS just to be sure."

* * *

They found the TARDIS just where the Doctor had left it. "Well, he hasn't abandoned you completely then," Casanova said lightly.

Clara looked distracted, "No, but..." she instinctively reached into her pocket for the TARDIS key, "I'm just going to check that he's there."

"You really think I'm going to fall for that one?"

Clara whirled around to face him, "What, afraid I'll fly away?" He shrugged. "Don't you trust me?"

"Absolutely. I don't trust him. Lying and all that. Wouldn't put it past him."

Clara rolled her eyes. She looked between the TARDIS and Casanova, "What if he's in danger?"

"He's a millennium's old, time traveling alien. I think he can handle 18th century Venice."


	6. Dancing

**A/N** _Another epic delay. Sorry about that. But I'm back and will hopefully be updating more frequently. I will finish this, I promise. I definitely won't leave you hanging. _

**Chapter 6 - Dancing**

Clara nearly laughed at Casanova's wide selection of gowns for the evening, "Why do you even have these? Are women so overwhelmed by your prowess they forget to dress before leaving?"

"Sometimes," he replied with a wink, "or they bring a change or something is broken. And some are gifts from my patrons and clients."

"For you?"

"For my wife."

Clara laughed, "You don't have a wife."

"Most do, so it's assumed. And besides, I have lots of other men's wives." Clara looked distinctly unamused by the comment. She closed the door on him and began getting ready.

* * *

Casanova waited his man's chamber for Clara to change. The garments were heavy and restrictive. She did away with the hoop and tied the corset loosely so that she would be more comfortable.

Casanova reentered the room with suspiciously perfect timing. She was about to ask if he'd been peaking, but his costume distracted her. He wore a black, leather mask, with almost cat like features, and his suit was brightly coloured, with a diamond pattern. Clara smiled affectionately, "I suppose Arlecchino is fitting. Clever, flirty, no money in his purse, surviving on his wits alone. Who am I?"

"Colombina—"

"Arlecchino's lover?"

"You sell her short. She's clever, intelligent really. I've heard her referred to as the only rational character in Commedia dell'arte She sassy, gets the better of everyone, and yet still has a heart of gold and helps anyone in need. I thought she suited you."

Clara blushed. Trying to cover that up she added, "Isn't she always trying to improve Arlecchino? Doesn't she try to make him a better person?"

"Oh yes!" Casanova grinned widely, and there was a flash of Ten in his mischievous look, "but those are the only times in which she fails. And in the end she must accept him for who he is."

Clara smiled again, but took an involuntary step back in an effort to dissipate whatever it was that was happening between them. "Do you have a mask for the Doctor, in case he comes?" Casanova held up a brown leather mask with a long crooked nose. Clara bust out laughing, but still managed to shake her head. "Pantalone?! You can't make him Pantalone."

"Why not, he's a foolish old man, isn't he?"

"Yeah, but he's not..." Clara wasn't exactly sure how to end that sentence.

"Not what?" Casanova asked with a devilish grin.

"I don't know... randy."

"He might surprise you," Casanova wiggled his eyebrows.

* * *

Clara felt a little like she had entered another planet. The room was opulent and ornate, and the guests, with their outlandish outfits, masks, and rigid social hierarchy, seemed completely alien. Clara and Casanova sat at a table along the side. Clara's eyes scanned the crowd, hoping to see the Doctor's floppy hair and goofy grin. She stared at all of the tall, thin men, wondering if he had dressed up, perhaps to surprise her, but none of them were him. When Clara turned back to Casanova she saw he was also glancing between the crowd, a look of longing on his face. "Are you looking for someone in particular?"

"No," he said too quickly.

Clara evaluated him for a moment, "You were looking for Henriette."

"No I wasn't," Casanova said indignantly, his voice going a little squeaky. He raised an eyebrow, "How do you know about Henriette?"

Clara bit her lip, she'd said too much, "Well, I am from the future," she said with a vague wave of her hand.

Casanova looked excited, "So Henriette is going to be part of my future then?"

"Um... Well..." what was she suppose to say? What would the Doctor say? "Spoilers...?"

Before Casanova could press her for details music started up and men and women filled the dance floor. Clara turned their way and gave them her full attention. They were beautiful, she loved the way they moved in sequence, the taking of hands, side steps, turns. Dancing as something communal. She wished people still did that.

She had been staring at the dancers for a song or two when Casanova said, "You're a good dancer, aren't you?"

"Why would you say that?" Clara asked without taking her eyes off the crowd.

"It's the way you look at them. I mean, look at that guy," he directed Clara's attention to a middle aged man on the other side of the room, "the greedy look on his face. He's not looking at the dancing, he's only interested in the young ladies. I'm almost tempted to loan him the Pantalone mask." Clara laughed. "Then there's that woman over there."

Clara's eyes followed his gaze, "She loves the dancing," Clara observed.

"True, but her features are also tinged with jealousy. Look at her foot. She taps along with the music, but can't find the beat. She wishes she could be up there. But she can't dance to save her life. And you—"

"What about me?" Clara challenged, staring into Casanova's eyes.

"You look thoughtful. Delighted of course, but you're hardly passive. Your head bops to the music, and I can see your mind walking through each step. Practicing. Care to try it out?" Casanova rose and held out his hand.

"I don't know the dance."

"Then pretend."

The Doctor would have dared her, but he wasn't there, and she did want to dance. Clara took Casanova's hand and followed him to the floor. The first dance was pretty rough. Casanova was good at guiding her through the steps when they were together, but whenever they had to separate she felt a little lost at sea. The feeling didn't last long. Casanova was right, Clara was a good dancer. The movements came naturally to her and she picked up the steps after a few songs. What she never seemed to master was the placid, mildly amused look all of the dancers seemed to wear. Clara simply beamed, she couldn't remember the last time she'd gone dancing. A wide grin stayed planted on her face and a mistake or sudden improvisation on Casanova's part had her in giggles.

Her exuberance earned her a great deal of looks. Some derision, others appreciative, but most of them merely confused. As if deriving that much joy from anything was a foreign concept. Perhaps it was. "Please tell me they're only pretending to be this complacent and—"

"Joyless?" they whispered to each other as, arm in arm, they moved in a circle with the other couples. "Depends really. Although I know a lady or two in the room who are very capable of expressing joy when the opportunity arises."

"Just one or two? So you haven't made your way through the whole room yet? Or you have, is it just that the others were even apathetic then?" Before Casanova could reply Clara added, "Is that why you made the bet with the Doctor in the first place? Afraid you'll run out of women in Venice and might need some delivered to you?"

"I made the bet so I could see him again," Casanova said with a bow, which Clara returned, perfectly in time to the music. "He's interesting. And a good deal better company than most of the city. Most of the men anyway."

"And yet..." Clara glanced around, as if to remind Casanova of the Doctor's absence.

"Well that was his decision. And despite how much I enjoy his company, I am enjoying our time alone," Casanova said just as he took her hand and stepped very close to her, completely invading her personal space. Clara was certain he chose that moment in the dance on purpose for such a statement.

They danced to every song, oblivious to the other dancers, altering the moves at their leisure, and laughing their way through. Casanova had just spun Clara around and held her close to him when Clara noticed the music had stopped. She looked around at the other guests, but everyone seemed to be moving off of the dance floor, gathering their belongings, and making their way to the door. "Why are they leaving? It can't be over already. What time is it?"

"Nearly four in the morning." Casanova said, leading Clara by the hand back to their table. Casanova handed her a still full wine glass, "It would be a shame to let it go to waste," he grabbed a glass himself, but stopped with the glass at his lips when a mostly full bottle on the other side of the table caught his eye. He down the contents of the glass in one gulp. "Drink up, we best be on our way." Casanova pulled a cork from his pocket, sealed the bottle and hid it under his jacket. Clara threw back her glass and followed Casanova out. She had to work hard to suppressed a laugh as Casanova bowed to the hosts and nearly dropped the bottle.

* * *

Clara and Casanova wandered through the dark streets, passing the wine bottle back and forth, making their way slowly back to the TARDIS. They turned down a narrow road and ended up at the small courtyard they had met at that morning. Clara climbed up on the fountain and began to walk around the edge. "Why were you here so early yesterday? You don't exactly seem like a morning person. Were you coming back from some tryst?"  
Casanova climbed up on the fountain with her, "Something like that," he said, handing her the bottle.

Clara took a swig from it, all the while staring at him, "No you weren't. That's your pretending face. Where were you going?"

Casanova looked rather sheepish, a strange departure from his usual confident grin. "I was going to the tailor."

"That early? It didn't look like anything was open yet."

"It wasn't. Once a month the tailor has a woman in to clean. Sophie. She throws away the scraps of fabric and the damaged pieces. Every once and a while she makes a 'mistake', puts out something of value. She's a lovely girl and kind hearted. She told me where she puts the 'waste'."

"And that's where all of your finery is from? Stolen scraps?"

"I know a clever seamstress who can do amazing things with her hands. She's good at sewing too," Casanova winked. He was about to take another swig, but stopped midway, realizing how little remained, "All yours," Clara reached for the bottle, "for a... kiss."

Clara's hand immediately dropped to her side. Casanova raised an eyebrow. "I mean it's good wine, but I don't know if it's worth a kiss."

"What would be?" He asked with a mischievous grin, "What would you like?"

Clara looked thoughtful for a moment. She stared into his face and placed her hands on his chest. "Hmmm. I would like... a dip." Grabbing Casanova by the lapels she let herself fall into the fountain, pulling Casanova along with her.

Casanova's head broke the surface of the water. He sat in the fountain sopping wet and utterly bewildered, "What?!"

"Geronimo?" Clara said with a shrug.

"What?!"

"Or maybe it should be 'Allons-y'."

"Wha... Wait, I like that. 'Allons-y'! That's good. _Allons-y_, sort of rolls off you're tongue." Casanova looked over at Clara and her wet hair, not to mention the water that was nearly up to her chin, reminded him of his original point, "What did you do that for?"

"I don't know," Clara said honestly, splashing around in the cool water, "Maybe it was all your talk of finery. Made me just want to make a mess."

"You do know what this means, don't you?" Before Clara could reply Casanova closed the distance between them with a forceful, closed mouth kiss. Clara pulled away, her face unreadable, her eyes searching his. The next moment her lips crashed into Casanova. The action caught him completely off guard and it took him a second to understand what was even happening. By the time he did and was finally kissing her back, she already had her arms around him and her fingers woven through his thick, wet hair.

Clara pulled away at last and laughed at his astonished look, "I haven't done that in a while."

"Jumped into a fountain?"

"Snogged someone."

"And why is that?"

Clara looked away, but still maintained the proximity, "I don't know. I guess... Have you ever found yourself waiting for something, something you didn't think was going to happen, but that you hoped for nonetheless?"

"Yes," Casanova said sincerely.

"Maybe I'm getting tired of waiting. Tired of hoping for the impossible." Clara climbed on to Casanova's lap and kissed him again.

Casanova placed his hands around her waist, but began to laugh into the kiss, "You're soaking wet, we both are. I've pretended to be a doctor and in my experience, sitting for long periods of time in cold water can throw the humors off balance and lead to a whole host of problems."

"So then we should really go somewhere warm and get out of these clothes?" Clara asked with an innocent smile and fiery eyes. Casanova didn't have to be told twice.


	7. The Truth

**A/N: **_A short one, but a bit of fun. Enjoy! I'm going away for a week, so the next chapter will be a bit delayed (but then I guess you're use to that by now).  
I expanded the ending of Chapter 6 to make the transition between chapters a little less jarring. Thanks for the feedback UchihaHakura64.  
_

**Chapter 7 - The Truth**

Clara woke up with a stretch. She couldn't quite explain it, but something felt different. Her mind was still groggy from sleep and was processing things slowly. She closed her eyes as if that would help bring clarity. Where was her alarm? She couldn't hear it. A foggy moment past before she realized that was because it wasn't ringing. She had slept in. The Doctor had actually kept his promise. Clara opened her eyes, ready to bounce down the hall to the console room and applaud him, but her surroundings caught her off guard. She wasn't in the TARDIS. She wasn't in her flat either. Clara glanced to her right and saw Casanova asleep beside her. Suddenly the events of the previous night hit her (along with a rather painful headache from a bit too much wine). "Oh god," she said before she could stop herself, "I slept with Giacomo Casanova."

"Good morning to you too," Casanova said with a yawn. He opened his eyes and smiled at her.

Clara smiled back with a little hesitation and searched for something to say, "Morning? Judging by the amount of sunlight through your window I'd bet it was closer to noon." Her benign comment brought her to a realization, "The Doctor will be looking for me. I should go." Clara got out of bed quickly, and began to hunt for her clothing.

"He won't be worried. He's clever, he'll figure out that you're here." Casanova's comment only seemed to make Clara dress faster. "You didn't do anything wrong, you know."

Clara nodded, almost more to reassure herself than him, but before she could stop herself she said, "Yes I did. I... I lost the bet."

Casanova climbed out of bed without a scrap of clothing on. Clara turned away to give him some privacy. She knew it was ridiculous after everything that had happened, but she couldn't help it.

Casanova placed a hand on her shoulder. Clara turned around reluctantly, not really in the mood to talk about it, but before she opened her mouth her eyes settled on the obnoxious purple hat in Casanova's hands. She laughed, "I can't accept that. Rules are rules. I'll tell the Doctor he owes you another chicken." The thought of telling the Doctor was almost enough to convince Clara to accept the hat, but for all of their talk of pretending she didn't want to lie to the Doctor, whatever the consequences.

Casanova's look was kind and reassuring, as if he knew everything that was going through her head. "You didn't lose the bet. The bet was always that the Doctor's _chicken _would want to be with _me_. You were pretending." Clara opened her mouth to protest, but then closed it again. _Was he right_? "I am many marvelous things, but I'm not the Doctor. Go back to the TARDIS, give him the hat, and tell him the truth about how you feel."

"But he doesn't even—"

"He might just surprise you."

* * *

"There you are Clara," the Doctor called from his usual place at the console, "hope you haven't been out looking for me, I only just got in."

Clara walked over to the Doctor, immediately taking in his appearance, "Doctor, you're soaking wet."

"Yes, had a minor disagreement with some locals. They thought I was stealing art, I thought they were harboring aliens. But we manage to compromise. That is to say they locked me in a dark room for the night and threw me in the canal come daybreak."

Clara looked at him with concern, "Why haven't you changed?"

"Because there's still something fishy here," he said, studying the readings in front of him.

"Yes, but that smell will go away if you change," she said with a wicked grin.

Her teasing called him out of himself and he stopped what he was doing and smiled at her. He held her gaze for a long while. It seemed like a lifetime since he'd looked into those big, brown eyes. He broke away, focusing back on the controls, "I'm sorry about leaving you with Casanova. I know you don't like all of that posturing."

"Giacomo's not that bad. Besides, he's not the only one who pretends."

"Who's pretending? I never pretend."

"You've been holding down that lever for the last 30 seconds."

"So?"

"It's not a lever, it works by turning it clockwise."

The Doctor removed his hand from the knob and tried to turn his movement into a big sweeping gesture, "I don't pretend, I lie. It's different."

"Rule one. I remember. But Doctor," Clara moved closer to him. He tried to retreat but backed right into the console. Clara was standing agonizingly close to him, her large eyes searching his, "Don't you ever just want to tell the truth?"

"But," he tried to move to the left, but found she had her arm resting on the console. It was the same to his right. He was _trapped_. "Sometimes the truth is a dangerous thing."

"What's wrong with dangerous?"

_In this moment? Everything_, he thought to himself. She was standing too close and smelling too wonderful, and being altogether _too Clara_. He needed a distraction. Finally he landed on something to say. "Where's my hat?"

"Must have forgotten it," Clara said indifferently, without taking her eyes off of his.

"But you did... you did win the bet, didn't you?" the Doctor was suddenly concerned with what the answer might be.

"You're changing the subject, Doctor."

"Am I? Changing it from what?" He asked, so kerfuffled he honestly couldn't remember.

"The truth."

"Right, truth... the truth about..."

"You and me," Clara took a step even closer. Now there was barely a centimeter between them. _Damn her assertiveness._

The Doctor involuntarily licked his lips, "We're... companions. We travel."

"And that's all?"

"Yes...?" Because it had to be, because there wasn't an alternative. Even so the Doctor's eyes glanced down at Clara's lips.

"So you don't fancy me then?"

"Um... well..." he spluttered, "I mean you're... you. Clara Oswald. You're splendid, and impossible, and fantastic," he said, borrowing an old word, "but..." Clara raised her eyebrows expectantly. There was a million ways that the Doctor could end that sentence. A million perfectly valid reasons to maintain their platonic friendship, but none of those reasons seemed to occur to him at that moment. Instead he said the first thing that came to him, in an interest of buying himself some time, "I'm not the only one who lies, you know."

"You're right. It's about time I told the truth," Clara stood up on her toes and kissed him. It was a soft kissed, but a certain one. It didn't ask a question, it asserted what she knew to be true. On the other hand, the Doctor _knew_ he should be running away, that he should be stopping this. He raised his arms, but instead of pulling her away, or flailing like they were want to do, they wrapped around Clara and drew her even closer. For once he ignored all the warring parts of his mind and kissed her unabashedly. He had lost himself to the feel of her and the pleasure of her embrace, when suddenly something felt off. She felt different in his arms and the angle of the kiss had changed, as if she had gotten up on a step latter. The Doctor opened his eyes and pulled away, only to come face to face with himself in Clara's place. "That doesn't usually happen," he said, just before he was hit on the head and lost consciousness.


	8. Zygons!

**A/N** _And I'm back. Getting closer to the end. Won't be long now._

**Chapter 8 - Zygons!**

Casanova took his time choosing an outfit for the day. It was a well accepted fact of Venice that the acoustics of Saint Mark's Basilica were incredible, but now that he had heard them for himself, he very much wanted to perform there and was certain he could talk (or possibly barter) his way into making that a reality.

Casanova left his home with a bounce in his step. He should feel slighted, having proven a poor substitute for the Doctor, but Casanova had had such a good time the previous day he really couldn't help but smile. That thought was quickly abandoned at the sight of his former tricorne lying in the street. He picked it up as a look of concern spread over his face. He glanced around him for signs of... he wasn't quite sure, something that would cause Clara to lose it. Near where the hat lay stood an alleyway that was more narrow than the others. Despite the high sun barely any light penetrated its dank interior. Casanova walked down the alley cautiously. Behind several abandoned barrels was what Casanova at first thought was simply a pile of waste, but on closer inspection realized was a human shape covered in what he could only describe as a net made of tissue and organic material. Casanova pulled back the material and gasped as he revealed Clara. She was unconscious, but once Casanova had removed all of the netting she sat bolt upright and said, "The Doctor's in trouble." Clara accepted his offered hand and then began running in the direction of the TARDIS.

Confused as he was, Casanova followed suit, "What happened to you?"

"I was attacked by a Zygon."

"A what?"

"It's a shapeshifting alien. Normally it looks like a big, rubbery, red thing with suckers, but it can perfectly mimic any other creature's shape."

"So you're worried it will use your form to trick the Doctor?"

"Exactly, which is why we have to stop it." Despite Clara's small legs she was a fast runner and Casanova struggled to keep up. Two blocks away they began to hear the familiar sound of the TARDIS. "No, no, no!" Clara took off at a sprint, Casanova trailed behind. Two turns later he nearly ran into her. Clara stood in an empty square, formally occupied by the TARDIS. "It's gone," she said, shaking her head in disbelief. Casanova looked at her strangely. "The Zygon is on the TARDIS with the Doctor. We have to save him!"

Casanova gave her another confused look. "Perché si sta parlando inglese?" Clara's eyes grew wide. Casanova tried again, "Si è passati a Inglese. Preferiresti che parlare inglese?" Clara's expression was complete bewilderment. "Would you like me to speak English?"

Finally, Casanova could see comprehension in Clara's eyes, but he still looked worried

"That last part, did you say that in English?" Clara asked.

"Of course I did."

"But before that you were speaking Italian?"

Casanova rubbed the back of his neck, "We've been speaking Italian for the last two days."

"I don't speak Italian... It's the TARDIS, she gets in your head and translates. If I can't understand you..." Clara thought back to the Russian submarine, and the fact that even on the opposite end of the world the TARDIS was still translating for her, "she must be a very long way away."

* * *

The Doctor came to with a splitting headache and blurry vision. His mind was so jumbled he thought he saw himself at the console. It took him a minute to realize he did in fact see himself at the console, or rather he saw the Zygon wearing his face. It was around this time that the Doctor also realized he was securely tied to the railing. The sound of him straining against the cords drew the attention of his captor. "'Bout time you woke up. What's the point of having a magnificent Time Lord brain if your not conscious to use it?"

"Tell you what, if you untie me I'll tell you all about it."

"I'm more interested in your TARDIS. Magnificent thing. Little bit sassy. She let me enter the time vortex, but now she's completely locked me out. Got any suggestions?"

"We're working with the same brain, you're guess is as good as mine."

"But she listens to you," the Zygon said, walking towards him. "You could tell her to return to Venice."

"And why would I do that?"

The Doctor's double stopped for a moment, taking time to really consider the question, "Because you want to go back for Clara. You know I've kept her alive, but you're worried about where I may have kept her."

"Clara can take care of herself," the Doctor said, trying to not let his anger show.

"She certainly can. But she is after all _under your protection._ It would be a shame if you let her die, _again_." The Doctor glared, but remained silent. "I've got your memories and your mind. I know what she means to you." The Zygon walked across the console room until it was standing over the Doctor. "Do you know where I found her this morning? Just outside Casanova's residence." The Doctor's jaw clenched shut. "My, you are naive, aren't you? She's not though," the Zygon changed back into Clara, "She's very _worldly_. All those things she did with Casanova, they'd make you blush. Not her though. Not _your Clara_." The Zygon bent down until it was right at eye level, "Here's the thing, you can take us back to Venice and save sweet, little Clara, or you can stay here and I can fill you in on last night. Is it really even a choice, Doctor?"

* * *

"What would the rubbery thing want with the Doctor?" Casanova asked as he followed Clara back towards the centre of the city.

"The last time we ran into them they wanted to take over the world."

"Why would they need the Doctor for that? If I was them, I'd steer clear of him."

"Well the world's not ready yet, it's too primitive. No offense. But if they had the TARDIS-"

"They could go anywhere in space and time."

"Exactly."

"How many attacked you?"

"Just one. I think it was a scout."

"But there would be others?"

"Definitely."

"So maybe it's good the TARDIS is elsewhere. Maybe that's safer." Clara nodded, but her eyes were a long way off. "You want to bringit back here, don't you? You want to bring the most powerful ship in the universe back to the rubbery aliens who want to use it to take over the world?"

She looked almost apologetic, "We have to save the Doctor."

"Isn't that his job? Save the day. Can't he save himself."

"Sorry, he relegated that task to me."

Casanova sighed, "Can you signal the TARDIS in some way?"

"I don't think so. My phone is dead... never mind... if we could find the other Zygons..."

"And now we're attacking aliens."

"Not attacking, necessarily. Talking with, possibly outsmarting."

"Okay. Where could they be?"

Clara thought about this for a long while and then shrugged, "The last time I saw them was in present day London in the National Gallery..." Clara's eyes went wide, "Art! They hide in art!"

"They do what?"

"The last place we saw the Doctor was the Ca' Rezzonico. He was certain there was a hidden doorway behind that tapestry."

"And you're thinking he went through that door and disturbed some zy-thingies."

"Zygons."

"But why didn't they just take him then?"

"I don't know, but I think the Ca' Rezzonico is our best lead."

Casanova nodded, although he looked thoughtful, "We're still going to need a plan."

Clara slipped her hands into her pockets and instinctively wrapped her fist around the TARDIS key, "I'm working on it."


End file.
